Last Lesson
by White Eyebrow
Summary: Can a mentor give a mean girl the courage to consider how to reconcile the reflection she sees in the mirror? — This is a bit of fluff written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round 5.


House: Gryffindor (The only house that matters)

Class Subject: Potions

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Action] Ending a marriage arrangement

Word Count: 2493 (google docs)

* * *

Last Lesson

Pansy Parkinson awoke from an uneasy slumber to the smell of wet goat. When she realized she was still in the Hog's Head inn, she knew her nightmare wasn't over. The place was empty. She groggily rose from the bench she was reclined on and headed toward the kitchen.

She screamed when her leg brushed past the corner of a workbench; there was something sharp in the wood's grain that tore a gash across her thigh. She clamped her hand around the wound, fumbled for her wand, and hastily cast the Healing Charm on the injury.

She yelped with a start when the portrait on the wall behind her opened, but was relieved to hear the familiar voices of her parents on the other side.

Mrs Parkinson was the first to step through. "Pansy? Are you there?"

"Yes, Mummy."

She approached and hugged her daughter. Mr Parkinson soon followed. His gold-embroidered robe snagged on the edge of the workbench.

"We came as soon as we heard about the battle," her mother said. "We were so frightened for you!"

In spite of the joy of seeing her parents, the only thing Pansy could think to ask was, "Who won?"

"All is well; Voldemort is dead," her father replied.

Her mother smiled, still embracing her child. "They told us you might be here."

Shocked by the news, Pansy was still not quite in the moment. "Where's Draco?" She blinked. "He never came for me… is he alright?"

"He's fine, Pansy-cakes; you mustn't worry yourself."

Mr Parkinson looked around the room. "Have you been here all this time by yourself?"

"No, there were children—the ones too young to fight. Their parents picked them up hours ago."

He grimaced. "This is unacceptable, to treat my little girl like this—"

"Don't excite her, dear; she must be frightened—"

"And what the devil happened to your leg?"

"I cut it on a nail… I think," Pansy said, still half asleep. She finally returned her mother's hug. "I want to go home."

The mother kissed her forehead. "Of course, my Pansy-cakes."

Nothing else was said as they left the inn.

—oOo—

"_But he's there! Potter's _there! _Someone grab him!"_

It had been two days since the battle. Pansy awoke in the comfort of her bed. Restless from her dream, her arm was shaking, as it was the last time she'd pointed it at Potter. She clenched and unclenched her hand to calm her nerves. A thin line of red was made manifest on her pyjama bottoms, and she hiked up her shorts to examine the gash that had somehow reappeared on her thigh. She retrieved her wand from the nightstand, and with a magical wave, it was healed.

The smells of first-meal led her to the familiar breakfast nook where her parents sat, enjoying a Muggle program on the wireless as they sipped their tea in the rays of the morning sun.

Mrs Parkinson smiled at her daughter. "Good morning, Pansy-cakes."

She greeted them in kind. "Good morning, Mummy." She kissed her father on the forehead. "Daddy..." And she caught a glimpse of the front page headline of the _Daily Prophet:_

_Ministry Releases Final Tally of the Hogwarts Dead_

She took the relevant section for herself as her father had finished with it, and sat at her place at the table. The house-elf filled her teacup.

Mrs Parkinson regarded her daughter as she quietly read the list. "Did you know any of them?"

Her eyes paused on one of the names. _Vincent Crabbe._ "Yes."

"I think it's appalling that the teachers allowed the students to fight. Some of them were as young as sixteen, for Godric sake!" Mr Parkinson said. "To think my little girl was in the middle of all that!"

Her mother frowned, whispering, "Must we talk about this at the breakfast table?"

"You were right not to get involved in the fighting, my baby girl."

Pansy's eyes widened. "Draco's not on this list… that means he survived."

"Yes," Mrs Parkinson replied. "We've spoken to his mother recently."

Mr Parkinson shot his wife a warning glare.

"You did?" Pansy said. "I wonder why he hasn't responded to my owl..." She then noticed her parents sharing a protracted look of apprehension. "What's wrong? What did you discuss with Madam Malfoy?"

Her mother smiled nervously. "We wanted to wait until you were better rested before telling you, knowing how delicate you are, dearie..."

"Tell me what?"

Mr Parkinson finally dropped the pretence. "The marriage arrangement with the Malfoys… It's been dissolved."

Pansy blinked, not quite sure she had heard correctly. "Why?"

"They didn't say," he replied. "But it's probably for the best since the Malfoys are under investigation for their part in the occupation. The last thing we need is Ministry trouble."

"But… maybe they did it to protect us?" Pansy straightened in her chair, crumpling the paper as her grasp tightened.

Her mother sighed. "Pansy-cakes, I don't think—"

"I must go see him!" She left the table, a single scone in hand.

When the mother started after their child, the father grabbed her arm. "Let her go."

—oOo—

Pansy stood at the gates of Malfoy Manor. It seemed more foreboding since her last visit.

Undeterred, she pointed her wand and invoked: "_Alohomora." _

The spell was ineffectual; however, as she'd hoped, it got their attention. The decorative iron bars magically twisted and contorted themselves, forming the visage of a menacing gargoyle. Its voice sounded equally menacing.

"_State your purpose."_

"I am here to see Draco Malfoy."

"_Identify yourself."_

"Pansy Parkinson: his betrothed."

"_That statement... is false."_

She folded her arms, not to be denied. "_I'm-not-leaving-until-I-speak-to-Draco!"_

The iron bars returned to their normal shape. She stood, unflinching; the only movement on her person was her hair that twisted in the breeze. Her patience was rewarded by the crack of Draco's Apparition.

_BAM!_

The blond stood serenely on the other side of the gate, dressed in silken black robes. Although it had only been less than a week since they'd last met, he appeared much more mature now.

"Hello, Panz."

Her natural reaction was to smile. "Draco..." But it quickly faded upon regarding his reticence. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

Draco shook his head. "You said you wanted to talk?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you being so cold? We are to be wed."

"Did your parents not inform you that the arrangement was called off?"

"I don't care what back dealings between our parents have fallen through, nor whatever hardships you have with the Ministry. That has nothing to do with how we feel about each other. We can still be together—"

"_I'm_ the one who called it off, Panz," Draco said plainly. "I thought it would be easier this way."

Her lip quivered. "I don't understand. We're in love."

"No. That was obligation: two purebloods doing their duty to carry on a dynasty."

She approached the gate. "What's wrong with that?"

"There has to be more. Otherwise, we're just slaves, like our parents."

"You're not being fair!"

He averted his eyes. "I know."

"I've done everything you asked of me!"

"I'm sorry."

"I took your lead in _everything—"_

"WE WERE ON THE WRONG SIDE!"

Pansy gasped with a start. Draco had never before spoken to her so.

"Goodbye, Panz." He then walked away, rather than teleporting properly.

"Draco!" Pansy rattled the gates. "Come back!" But, he was already out of earshot. "Please…."

Pansy allowed her tears to fall, barely taking notice when a dull twinge of pain assailed her thigh. She winced as it had become impossible to ignore, and regarded a trickle of blood running down her leg. She cursed and retrieved her wand. As she recited the healing incantation, her attention was drawn by the cacophony of the twisting metal bars. This time they were formed into the familiar face of Narcissa Malfoy.

The effigy even sounded like her. "To carry on so… Have you no self-respect, child?"

Pansy clenched her teeth. "Bitch!" And she left, sporting a slight limp.

—oOo—

Hogwarts was still in ruins as the rebuilding efforts had not yet begun. As such, it was easy for Pansy to sneak onto the grounds. Fortunately, her privileges as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad were still in effect—a task that the new Headmistress had understandably not got around to revoking yet.

She entered the Slytherin dungeons and went straight to the former Headmaster's potion room. She opened the door and frantically started to rifle through the many shelves, not caring who, or what, the noise might attract.

"Ms Parkinson?"

She gasped when she heard Severus Snape's voice. She turned—"H-headmaster…"—and gasped again when she realized she was talking to his ghost.

The spirit floated toward her quietly, phasing through the table between them. "I must admit, you are the last person I'd ever thought to see down here."

Sadness washed over her face. "Oh, no… the filthy Mudbloods… they murdered you?"

"_Ob-viously,_ you have _not_ stayed abreast of current events," he said evenly. "Why are you here?"

"Wh-when I was in the Inquisitorial Squad, I-I remember seeing a cache of love potion you stored next to the Veritaserum."

"You have a good memory… who is it for?"

"Draco."

"I see… he's finally come to his senses, I take it?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Wh-what's that supposed to mean?"

"Draco has grown up, realized his priorities, and come into his own."

Her ire gave her courage. "What does that have to do with him dumping me?"

"You represent everything he has detached from."

"And what is that, exactly?"

"The self-assured narcissism that comes with being an ideologue." He arched a ghostly white eyebrow. "Simply put, _you_ are on the wrong side."

This made her ponder. "_Wrong side…_ Draco said that same thing to me as well."

"_Ob-viously_, you have likewise learned nothing from _recent_ events."

She folded her arms akimbo with an accusatory glare. "If I'm on the wrong side, what does that make _you,_ I wonder?"

"A double agent for Headmaster Dumbledore nigh twenty years..." He shrugged. "It is no exaggeration to say that I was instrumental in the Dark Lord's defeat."

"So, Potter was in on it all this time?" she questioned, nonplussed.

"Potter did not know… and neither did Draco; in fact, I worked to steer your former betrothed _away_ from the Death Eaters."

Pansy fell to her knees. "Merlin." If anyone else had told her this, she would have dismissed it outright, but Professor Snape… he was different. She hid her face in her hands, sobbing.

"It's jarring, isn't it," he said with a gentleness he only afforded to his students. "To discover that everything you believed is a lie… it makes one doubt reality, doesn't it?"

She wiped her tears on her sleeve. "Y-you weren't a-always a double agent, were you?"

"No."

"A-at what point did you know that you were on the wrong side, then?"

"When the Dark Lord murdered my love."

"And, _h-how_ did you know you were in love?"

Although it was not required for him to do so, he blinked. "When I began seeing everything in the world as it related to someone other than myself."

"But don't you see! That's the way I feel about Draco… And he broke my heart!"

He snorted softly. "Silly child. When you see the love of your life flee into the arms of your enemy, _then_ you can speak to me of heartbreak." He floated closer, pointing a pallid, translucent finger. "You weren't in love; you were in _obsession._ The fact that you are willing to destroy Draco's free will and enslave him to preserve your precious ego is proof of this."

"But, I don't want to be a failure—not at this… What will my friends think?"

"You never had friends, Ms Parkinson, only accomplices in cruelty."

She rose, her bottom lip trembling. "You certainly know about 'cruelty,' don't you?"

He shrugged. "Of course. It's all I had. At least I'm honest enough in my convictions to know that popularity does not equal adoration." His eyes lowered, and he grimaced. "You've got red on you."

She followed his gaze to her bleeding thigh. "Shit!" She took out her wand.

"Why do you keep hurting yourself, girl?"

"What are you on about?" she said as she fiddled about, trying to position her wand over the persistent wound. "It was an accident; I've been trying to heal it, but it keeps coming back!"

"When improperly healed, internal discord—stress, guilt—can cause the wound to re-emerge."

"Nonsense!"

"Even your body is trying to tell you to move on from this... You should listen."

"You're one to talk about 'moving on,' Ghost!" Pansy was at the end of her patience. "What are you doing here, anyway? How come you haven't passed on?"

For the first time, Snape's expression betrayed him. "I can't face them."

"Sorry?"

He averted his eyes. "All the people that I've wronged in life... they're waiting for me on the other side. I can't face them."

"Me neither," she said. "I—I don't know what to do."

The moment they shared was fleeting.

"Well, I certainly have all the time in the world, but _you_ do not." Snape pointed. "What you seek is on the third shelf on your right. Do with it as you please."

Pansy rushed to the shelf per his instructions and found the vial of love potion. She held it in her hand, but her smile faded in reverie. "No… This is wrong…" She put it back on the shelf.

Snape nodded in approval. "There may be hope for you yet, Ms Parkinson."

She wiped the last of her tears away. "Thank you, Headmaster."

They were interrupted when Nearly Headless Nick phased through the door. He regarded Snape, but had the presence of mind to doff his head to Pansy.

"Ah, Severus, there you are. The other ghosts are in the Room of Requirement; we thought we'd throw you a 'Welcome to the Afterlife' party—"

"Get. Out." Snape's glare was no less severe in death as it was in life.

This gave Nearly Headless Nick a start, and the ancient ghost phased down into the floor.

Pansy and Snape shared a knowing look, for which he gave her a rare genuine smile, and the human left.

—oOo—

The next morning, Pansy awoke to an odd sensation—magical tingles flitted about her face. She sleepily opened her eyes, struggling to come into focus on the ethereal Patronus of a puppy licking her cheeks.

It spoke in her mother's voice. "_Rise and shine, Pansy-cakes..."_

She giggled. "Okay, okay! I'm awake, Mummy!"

The Patronus disappeared. Pansy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She instinctively hiked up her shorts and examined the gauze wrapped tightly around her thigh; there was only a smattering of red. She rose and went to the lavatory, opting to change the bandage out before heading downstairs for breakfast.

Sometimes there were no shortcuts to healing.


End file.
